"Home" by YOSHINA

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In celebration of 221B, I rewatched “The Reichenbach Fall” for the umpteenth time, now I’m emotionally distraught.

Stay frosty, my friends.
A distant muffled of thunder, it was almost too faint for John to hear. Gradually the rumbling become more distinct, growing louder and louder. In the next few seconds that had passed by, rain was upon him, pounding recklessly against the window. The roar becoming deafening and earsplitting, the sound was quite unsettling. Flashes of lightening lit up the darkened sky followed by cracks of thunder as though in replied. Some flashes roaring dangerously close to his flat, John made no effort to move from his sitting position.

The storm blustering outside, John remained nonchalant. Not even the pounding rain pouring against the window, roof, and down the ceiling stirred a reaction. Not even the lightening flashing and thundering bellowing in the distance shook him. Not even the wind whistling through the flat and shook it all like perhaps it was a hurricane out there instead of a storm was enough to pull him out of the state he found himself in. Arms resting against the sides of the chair, John continued to sit there like a shadow, in the background, silent.

Gaze focus on nothing in particular with eyebrows pinched together, an overwhelming sadness sat in his eyes. The images replaying over and over in his head, they begun to engulf his very being.

Hands pressing against his face, there was no way in escaping them. The face and black matted hair covered in blood, remaining motionless on the ground as all life escaped him, swarming inside his head like a disease, he was barely able to suppress the pain anymore.

John’s breath ripped from his lungs, the air became thick as he gasp. Crowed in his skin, sweat followed by cold chills plagued him as he heaved over, desperately trying to catch his breath, to the point he was hunched over the wooden panes.

Stomach feeling as if it was tied in knots, pangs of shuddering wracked through his body as he tightly shut his eyes. He was unsure on how much more he could take as a sudden pressure built in his chest. Heart on the rim of bursting, he firmly clinched his chest with one hand while holding himself up with the other. Breathing heavy, his eyes stung with anguished as tears streamed down his cheeks; it tickled and itched as they dried.

He tried riding himself of the images running through his head, but he knew it was a lost cause. The mangled and bloody corpse of his colleague best friend became more disturbing than anything he had witnessed in Afghanistan.

The sight of Sherlock will forever haunt him. His lifeless, emotionless face; it was too unbearable. So close, but so far away, death was settling in pulling him farther away from John. His hands unable to clinch onto his friend on time, he was lost.

Heart spiraling into a deep abyss, a flood of tears gushed down his ashen pale cheeks staining the floor as he broke out into a sob. Collapsing onto the floor, dejected, swollen with emotions and the realization of his loss, his eyes bled with pain.

Like a caged animal, he laid there as his sobs wreaked havoc to his tendered heart land-lady who sat a bay near the entrance. Her heart crying out to him, his whimpering rounds echoed throughout the flat.

With a sense of loss so powerful, his muscles wouldn’t responded to commands, his gaze was into the far distance, unseeing but fixed on some imaginary future of a life without his well-beloved companion.

A tightening of his throat and a short intake of breath forecasted the explosion of emotion which to date, he had managed to keep buried deep inside. Not any more though, that image of things shared with a friend which were not to come, was too powerful and gut wrenching to be kept in check; the tearing at his soul was too compelling and energetic to be contained. The vision he had, began to swim in front of him as tears welled from deep inside and coursed down his cheeks.

All the pent-up hysteria and dread of loss was let loose in a paroxysm of choking and sobbing, so powerful in it's intensity that it shook his body till he could barely breathe.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.

“I don’t understand… W-Why? You made me better… Why… Why did you have to leave? Please come back, I need you…”

Pulling himself up, he tugged his knees towards him with his eyes squeezed shut, and a strong wave of pain hit him, working its way up from his gut to spread to the ends of his fingertips and down his withered legs.

John was nothing more than an empty shell, Sherlock took a part of him that he’ll never be able to get back. In the back of his mind, he knew that this was the one defining moment that was going to change him forever.

Please, don’t be gone Sherlock…” His voice seemed caught in his throat as he struggled to form the words, “Come home… Just, please come home…

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